tear me to pieces (skin to bone)
by sumpetals
Summary: A series of one-shots chronicling the lovely trope of torturing a beloved character, only to be comforted later on by friends and family. Varying lengths, genres, and time-frames. [#1: after shell-shocked pt. 2, hiccup has trouble sleeping. death is so final. spoilers for rtte season 4.]


i love hurt/comfort, i love angst, and i love torturing hiccup. you'd think after, like, 14 years of fanfic writing i'd move on from this trope, but nope.

i'll take prompts, but with a few rules!

_i. **no smut.** m+ stuff in regards to gore/violence, yes, absolutely. can't guarantee it'll be fantastic, but i love me some torture._

_ii. i prefer gen, but i do ship hiccstrid with the force of a thousand fireworms. heather/fishlegs i can probably work in, but i prefer to work around gen and team bonding, and family comfort!_

_iii. please be specific! i can try and work with vague prompts, but i guarantee nothing._

_iv. no aus, unfortunately. i'm so, so bad with aus right now. i read all the books when i was a kid (oh god... so long ago...) but for some reason, in this universe, i just can't go outside of the lovely world of berk and everything it includes. i'm so sorry!_

_v. i'll do pre-httyd, httyd 1, rob/dob, and rtte! i can handle some httyd 2, but anything after that is too heartbreaking. pls... no..._

okay! not that anyone might read this anyway, but just in case! i just really love writing stuff like this, and it'll be good practice for me, too.

* * *

**#1: heart made of glass, my mind of stone**

after the downfall of viggo & ryker, the team finally has room to breathe. the problem is: hiccup watched viggo die, and it's an image he can't shake.

**time:** race to the edge; post-season 4  
**characters/pairings**: hiccup/astrid, toothless, fishlegs (briefly), snotlout (briefly), viggo (mentioned)  
** warnings**: brief description of a panic attack.

* * *

He blames it on the inevitability of the eruption.

The volcano is a wreck: the first night, it's loud and shivering, sending quakes through the entire island, leaving everyone on edge as the ground threatens to give. Hiccup mounts Toothless, spurring the other riders to scout from the air, but nothing is particularly… _dangerous_. The towering, once-dormant volcano is merely shuddering in activity, taunting the teens to stay, yet refusing to spew all the same. When they land back on base, it gives another violent, awful shudder, the thick smell of ash lingering in the air.

"Maybe it'll pass," Snotlout mutters, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. "Or maybe it's just digesting Viggo."

Hiccup tries very, very hard not to think about that, stomach recoiling at the thought; they hadn't been there, hadn't seen the fear in that man's eyes, the realization of impending death in a man so sure of life. He might have hated Viggo with every fiber of being, but he can't think of a fate worse than this.

"Not funny," Astrid snaps, arms across her chest. She shoots a worried look towards Hiccup, but he pointedly ignores it.

Instead, voice steadier than his knees, he says, "We'll figure something out in the morning. Try and get some sleep."

They don't disperse, but Hiccup isn't going to stick around; he heads for his hut, Toothless following behind. He hasn't slept properly in days, not since this all began, and every time he bothers to close his eyes, all he sees is brimstone and fire. It's rather ironic, he thinks bitterly: even in death, Viggo continues to haunt him. The man is finally gone, effectively freeing his hold over the dragons, yet Hiccup can only see the crumbling of the rock as he plummets to the burning magma beneath his feet.

A stupid, stupid man.

When he reaches his hut, Toothless croons sadly, Hiccup sliding the door shut and tiredly making his way up the stairs to his bed. It's been hours, though it seems more like days; Heather and Dagur remain on the island to recover, planning efforts to restore their own home. Berk is secured, his dad's Terror Mail sitting open and creased on Hiccup's desk on the first floor. Few causalities on their side, all things considered, and the war is over. They survived. The Dragon Eye is ash, both a relief and a bitterness on his tongue, and all injuries have been tended to.

And yet.

"I'm alright, bud," he murmurs, Toothless nudging his ribs, licking incessantly at his neck. It's comforting all the same. "Just tired."

He doesn't have the energy to strip down, take off his prosthetic; the skin beneath his knee is raw and aching, burns from the heat of the lava, and his hands are blistered from where he had attempted to reach for Viggo. He'll have to repair his gloves at some point, perhaps tomorrow. Should probably bandage himself up, too, but the amount of effort it'll take is more than he can expend right now. Later, then.

So he settles: head on his pillow, Toothless curled up on the warmed rock beside him, blanket somewhere abandoned near Hiccup's ankle.

He can't sleep. The volcano gives another shudder, Snotlout's words taking up home in his head—

_maybe it__'s digesting viggo _

—gods, he can't do this.

He sits up, blindly reaching for Toothless, his dragon immediately nuzzling into his outstretched hand. He's shaking, too warm even in the chill of the night, and he violently yanks off his shoulder guards, tossing them somewhere down below. Toothless is growling, Hiccup shrugging out of his armoured tunic next, the thing getting caught in his hair and pulling painfully. He doesn't _care_, because his whole body is hot and his fingers are fumbling and the dark is overwhelming, and Hiccup is finding it very, very hard to breathe.

"Stupid," he grits out, teeth clenched as his hand clutches at his chest. The layer of dark fabric between him and his skin is still too, too much. "Stupid, _stupid_—"

"Hiccup?"

_Astrid_, his mind helpfully supplies, momentarily cutting through the panic; it's gone just as quick, because if Astrid sees him like this, shivering and unable to breathe, it'll cause all sorts of unnecessary questions he can't answer, especially right now. Still, her footsteps don't falter, and Hiccup can't force the words over the lump in his throat to tell her to go, that he's fine, that she should be resting for tomorrow—

"Oh," she breathes, and there are hands over his, gentle and soft. "Hiccup, c'mon, you're gonna hurt yourself."

_it didn__'t have to end this way_

He's being guided to the edge of the bed, a steady hand on the curve of his spine. She's grounded and so incredibly lovely, a thought he holds onto dearly, and Hiccup grips her hand so tight he's afraid his own might break. She doesn't complain.

"I thought something might be wrong," she explains, her thigh flush against his. "You looked like you wanted to hurl yourself off the deck when Snotlout… well. So I came to check on you. Gods, Hiccup, I wish you would have told me."

He shakes his head, tongue thick and heavy where it rests between his teeth. Even if he wanted to, he can't speak; the rush of adrenaline is draining from him, leaving him cold and aching all over again. He just wants to sleep, but he can't even do that.

"It's not your fault," she continues, cupping the swell of his cheek and directing his gaze at her. In the dark, he sees the shadow of her, but the brights of her eyes are so clear that he's breathless all over again. "You didn't push him, or make the ground crumble. _You_ didn't make him go for that stupid Eye. You're not responsible for this, Hiccup."

"I could've…" he starts, stops. His voice is cracked and dry. Astrid waits, doesn't push. Lamely, he says, "Something, I guess."

She maneuvers them until she's back against the wall, Hiccup's head firm against her chest and under her chin; it's the safest he's felt in days, and Toothless croons in comfort, plopping his head over their laps to keep them tucked away. Astrid murmurs a quiet _thank you_, and Hiccup will _not_ cry over this, he will not, because that's admitting defeat from Viggo, admitting that some part of him was lost along in the crumbling plates and rocks.

"It's okay to be sad," she whispers, brushing back his fringe and resting her palm on his forehead. "He was an awful person, Hiccup, but he was still a person. I know you."

Something inside of him snaps, some wisp of strength in his chest, and he buries his face in Astrid, clutching her arms as though she'll keep him above water—she will. She always will.

The three of them mourn: not for Viggo, but for Hiccup.

* * *

Sometime later, Astrid begins to untangle them.

She strips Hiccup gently of his belts and the rest of his outer armour. He'd done most of the work for her, but she'd rather not have him waking up with kinks in his already aching body; she's well aware of how sore he can be when he doesn't bother changing on long nights spent pouring over notebooks, whether alone or with Fishlegs. He doesn't stir much, sleepy and burnt out, face streaked with dirt and dried tears. It breaks her heart, but the weight of his sadness being lifted is cathartic, and Astrid will carry that with her until Valhalla sweeps him from this earth.

Stretching out her own kinks, she manages to dislodge herself from Hiccup's wayward limbs, tucking him under the blankets while Toothless readjusts himself. He doesn't go far; he's careful and precise, wrapped around Hiccup, tail curled delicately around the boy's legs. It's a sweet sight, one that has Astrid smiling, and she spares half a moment to debate before untying his prosthetic and freeing him from its clutches. Toothless growls an agreement, resting his head on Hiccup's chest, and she gives them both a quick kiss to the forehead.

Her boys. Her very strange, wonderful boys.

Halfway down the stairs, and Hiccup's frantic, half-panicked voice calls out her name; Astrid immediately heads back up, worry choking her lungs, but he's barely awake.

His hand is reaching blindly, however, searching idly for something that's no longer there, and Astrid smiles sadly. She toes off her boots, setting them off to the side, and removes her own armour, along with her pleated skirt; it might not be the most appropriate, but Astrid finds, in this particular moment, she gives very little care towards tradition. She climbs into the bed, over the covers, and grabs Hiccup's outstretched hand, lacing their fingers together; Toothless, apparently pleased with this development, adjusts accordingly, his wing covering the two of them to provide warmth from the chill of the hut.

"Thank you," she whispers, resting her head on Hiccup's chest; she can hear his heartbeat, the steady thrum of life through his frame, the promise of _hers, _just as she is his. Toothless chirps happily, his scales only breaths from Astrid's hair, and she falls asleep to the two of them deeply, wonderfully _alive_.

* * *

Fishlegs stumbles upon them in the morning, on a search for Hiccup to start brainstorming ideas to rectify the newly dubbed Volcano Situation, and finds the three of them fast asleep and sprawled out on a too-small bed.

He grins, hands clasped together, and leaves them upon where he found them.

True love is, after all, a rarity these days.

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_if you want to send prompts, feel free in the comments, or message me twitter or tumblr (i'm found under the same pen!); i'm also cross-posted on AO3.  
_


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